Blau Skies Ahead
by breach
Summary: The story of a bounty hunter in the Wastes of the West -UPDATED-
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter I**

**Vulpes's End**

The sun was high. And in the desert, it bites like a Nightstalker. Blau looked at the sky from under his hat. It was nearly noon.

\- Where are those pesky little _Provokateuren_? – Linus mubled to himself.

The ridge hadn't seen movement since he had got there 2 hours ago. And Vulpes was nowhere to be seen. Linus analysed his rifle. Late 19th century Gewehr 98. Belonged to his father. And his grandfather before him. And his great grandfather before that. And it kept on like this for generations. It still bore the _Detusches Heer _symbol from World War I, the _Balkenkreuz__**. **_That very rifle had a higher kill count than the entirety of the NCR in the west. Kept in mint condition for more than 400 years by the bounty hunters of the Blau family, it belonged to legendary figures like Frederick Blau, Hermann Blau and now Linus Blau, all of which fight evil and tyranny from a distance. About 400 metres to be exact, looking that very tyranny in the eyes through his iron sights and erradicating it 5 rounds at a time. All for a price of course.

Distant talking alerted Linus from these thoughts. The tal banners made it clear, it was the Legion. And in front of the convoy, bearing the bear head on his head, Vulpes Inculta. The NCR had put a very appealing price on that man's head. Vulpes knew of this, as he knew of virtually everything that went on in the Wasteland, and grew paranoid over time, even to the point where he demanded to have two Praetorian bodyguards at all times.

\- _Eins, zwei… sechs _of them? Splendid, I'll save best for last. – Linus mumbled. With a soft movement he readied his rifled while he licked his lips.

Inhale. Exhale. Pull the trigger. Rechamber. Another life taken, one small step closer to a pure Wasteland. As the last brass from the clip hit the rocks next to his vantage point, so did the last Praetorian guard. Vulpes was, understandably, shaken by this point. One by one, his party was being picked off by an unknown threat. Panting, sweating and shaking, about to meet his end right there, in the middle of the desert, close to nowhere, without even being able to look at the face of his reaper. Vulpes gazed at the ground. The yellow sand of the desert was becoming darker and darker, stained with the impure blood of the Legion's minions, now acquiring na orange hue next to the lifeless bodies.

On the other side of the ridge, Linus observed as he inserted another clip into the rifle and chambered a round. He glanced at the poor, disoriented man with the bear hood on his head and began wondering as he often did. "Are we inherently _guten _or _bösen_? Are we a product of our environment or is our fate written as we are born?". As these thoughts ran through his mind, he admired the scene below. Vulpes Inculta, respected by many, feared by all, a man responsible for savage beatings and having entire towns burned and their inhabitants tied to crosses and left to rot in the Mojave sun was in front of him, albeit a few hundred metres away, sitting next to the corpses of his former comrades, stricken with the thought of this being the end to his life.

\- A broken man. – Blau said to himself as he pulled the trigger. One last bullet brass was ejected from the rifle and hit the rocks nearby, its tingling noise overcoming the dry thump that the now corpse of Vulpes emited as it hit the desert sand.

Linus inhaled slowly. He could smell the blood in the air. He sensed his surroundings. The closest "town", if you could even call it a town was Camp Searchlight. Feral ghouls don't have the best awareness but the green mist in the horizon to the south made Linus uneasy. As such, the best to do was to grab a proof of death from Vulpes and return to safer lands. His job here was done. The Wastes would take care of the traces.


	2. Chapter II

**Chapter II**

**The Queen and her Pawns**

Berta and the crew were up to no good, as per usual, wandering through south Highway 95, looking to score an easy hit. That's life in the Wastes.

No sensible caravaneer would go near Camp Searchlight on their way up north to New Vegas but ever since the I-15 had been infested with deathclaws near Quarry Junction, convoys coming from the Mojave Outpost had been put in this awkward situation where they had no real safe route. This meant armed escorts and they were no joke: usually ex-military with twitchy dispositions and even twitchier trigger fingers. So the Powder Gangers usually kept clear of the bigger convoys or resorted to guerrilla tactics involving their infamous explosive knowledge (but that came with the unfortunate consequence of destroying much of the brahmins and what they were carrying). But Berta was no small time caravan pirate. No, no, none of that. Berta had big time dreams. He saw the Powder Gangers as a bunch of small time gangsters with egos bigger than their brains. He knew they had no future and only enlisted with the gang to get away from the NCRCF. She wasn't one to rot away in jail, either.

Berta would see beyond the small horizons of his colleagues. He always thought of more, better, stronger. The others who followed him, not being the brightest, instantly saw him as a leader and obeyed to him almost blindly. Berta despised them, sheep with near to no critical thinking, unable to survive on their own. But chess can't be played without pawns, so for the time being he would need them.

While stopped near the road on Snyder's Prospector Camp waiting for something, anything, Berta noticed something was off. Standing, she took some steps, walked in a circle, taking in all of his surroundings. She sighed. Something was definitely off. The light? No, it wasn't it. Then she realized. Crows. There are never crows nearby, the bighorners that used to live in the area had long been killed or stolen and the ghouls from Camp Searchlight kept to the mist so any negligent prospector would be killed further south and they wouldn't see any crows surely.

\- Do me a favour and stay here. There's something I need to check. – Berta spat out to the rest of the posse. None of them really paid much attention nor showed any interest in what she had to do. No surprise there.

Berta slowly marched west, looking for the source of the black birds. Creeping up behind a rock, she poked his head above it and scanned the area. In front of her, about 400 metres down, there were one, two, three… Six corpses arranged in a circle-like shape with crows all around, poking at them. Crow mystery solved. Berta kept scanning. The corpses were next to some sort of camp: a fireplace, two tents, some mattresses… Spears with heads stuck on their tips… Legion camp? Also explains why the corpses were in red atire with golden armour.

The corpses had not been there for long, the blood was yet to dry and the crows hadn't done much damage to the tissues. Judging from the blood spatter on the slaughter scene in front, the shooter had to be near Berta's position. Looking around he noticed the rock she was hiding behind had gunpowder residue. Probably from the muzzle fire? A more thorough inspection revealed a bullet casing to his left, hidden betweet two smaller rocks.

\- A professional job… An ordered hit maybe? It was a pro, no random shooter would collect the casings from the rounds fired. – Berta mumbled to herself. But why was this casing left? A lapse of the assassin's attention?

She decided that whoever had done this was long gone so no trouble would be found if he decided to inspect the scene up close. What she saw confirmed his suspicions. Six Legionaries, several different ranks, one shot to the head to each, all carefully placed. Strangely, the corpse in the middle died in fetal position, lying on his side. Darryl scavenged the bodies for any riches left behind. They were loaded with Legion currency: 10 Aurei, 78 Denarii. Around 1312 caps. This was no act of piracy. Their weapons were also with them, along with ammo and sidearms. Most definitely a hit on one of them. Judging by the way the scene was composed, the middle victim seemed the main target. One of the corpses bore a standard on his back, indicating he was a Vexillarius, with two Veteran Legionaries by his side. No reason to target such members of the Legion's hierarchy. Now the corpse in the middle was a different story. His armor had the flair of an officer, someone above the rank of Decanus, surely. Short hair, sunglasses, a massive gaping wound on the side of his head. That led nowhere, Darryl did not recognize him. But judging by the two Praetorian Guards dead next to him, he must have been someone of value to the Legion.

Taking the weapons would bring suspicion upon her among his mates so Berta took the money, a small Legion knife as a souvenir and left the scene, leaving behind two hunting rifles much to her dismay (as her fingers had become sore from rolling so much detonation wire). Returning to the prospector camp, nobody even looked at her, let alone ask any questions. No surprise there either, everyone there behaved like mindless zombies.

\- Anything today? – She asked, looking around with her hands akimbo.

\- N-no ma'am – one of them answered, jumbled. – We ain't saw none of them troubles goin' by.

\- Hm. Call it a day earlier. Head on to the camp. I'll meet you later.

Her order was met with several confused grunts, with the other gang members looking at each other confused.

\- Go. Now. – Berta's face had become dark.

They all quickly scattered and made their way north to the camp. Berta took some time to think. The higher ranks at the Powder Gangers did not like her. Too smart to stay under their rule. She knew what they thought of her, and it was easy to assume that they would soon do something to take care of it. She planned to be long gone by the time they decided to act. But time was running out and no real solution had appeared meanwhile.

The thought of the bullet casing left behind on the morder scene distracted her. Why would a professional able to murder six Legionaries from a distance without giving them the chance to even react (their weapons had obviously not been fired, some had the safety on even) could make the mistake to leave traces behind. Berta reached for her left pocket where she had stored the spoils from the scene. She analyzed the bullet brass. The markings engraved on the back of the casing read "8x57 IS". Quite odd, most bolt action rifles in the wastes fire .308 Winchester, 7.8x51mm. This was na older cartridge, and definitely not American. She tried recalling what she had learnt from her father's handbooks. The Russian Mosin-Nagant fired 7.62x… 54mm? Yes, 54. It hit her. 7.8x52 Mauser, also known as 8x52mm… This was a German rifle, and considering the damage it had done at the distance it didi t… Gewehr 98, no doubt. But how was such an iconic and rare rifle in the Mojave, and being used by a contract killer? The more she thought about this, the more it puzzled her. Such a rifle would be 400 years old by now, since Germany was forbidden from manufacturing rifles after World War One, and resorted to the carbine versions of the G98, the also iconic Kar98. But she was rambling through history as she did frequently.

The sun was going down, his orange glow reinforcing the Wasteland's orange hue like a pleonasm. She placed the casing back in her pocket and started heading back to camp.


	3. Chapter III

**Chapter III**

**A Rose in the Desert**

The moon was creeping over the horizon and a smooth breeze rattled the desert bushes. Few makeshift fireplaces scattered near the Bison Steve lit Primm's streets with a dim light. With no one on the streets it looked lik a ghost town populated by the shadows drawn by the fire's shaky light. On the other side of the I-15 a stronger light source told a different story. The NCR outpost near Primm had been undermanned for a long time but soldiers in the Mojave learnt quickly how to make omelettes without eggs – since most of the NCR forces were at or near Hoover Dam, Helios One and Legion hotspots, places further away from the action were left to their own devices, sometimes with grave consequences like what happened at Ranger Station Charlie. But in spite of all this, the NCR near Primm has been able to keep some semblance of security and order, especially against the threat of the Powder Gangers that had established camp nearby.

Sticking to the shadow, Linus advanced through the night. To the north he admired the tal building of the Bison Steve Hotel and Casino and wondered what it would have been like to ride the rollercoaster. The Mojave Outpost was not far but the road near Ivanpah Lake was treacherous because of all the hostile critters that inhabited the area. Not to mention all the Jackals and Vipers hiding in the derelict buildings waiting to ambush unsuspecting travellers.

By the time Blau reached the top of the hill where the Outpost was located, the moon was already high in the sky. As he entered the Outpost's barracks he was greeted by the cheerful redhead, a typical sight over at the bar.

\- Mister Blau! Glad to see you didn't get gun down in the middle of the desert like an animal this time. – She spat out sarcastically.

\- _Hallo_ Cassidy, glad to see you haven died of cirrhosis yet – Linus answered back with a joyful expression. Cass could not help but laugh.

\- So Mister Bounty Hunter, how's hunting season? Here to cash in another reward? When are you gonna let me inspect that rifle of yours? Been keen on trying it out since I first put my eyes on it.

\- _Gut_, _Ja und nie!_ Does that answer your questions _mein lieber Freund_? - Linus smirked.

\- Uh? Oh, hum, sure… _Nein nein_ and all that…

Linus left the bar and made his way onto the Headquarters to meet Major Knight and discuss payment.

\- I come bearing gifts! – Blau entered Knight's office suddenly with Vulpes's hat and a locket on his other hand.

Knight was left speechless.

-Y-you really did get him? We've been trying to take him out for months, even First Recon couldn't get to him… And you did it… In one afternoon? – Knight's eyes were wide. When he saw the bloodied bear hat with a hole on either side his hand reached for his mouth.

-That's Vulpes, confirmed. Your methods are certainly effective. 5000 caps was our agreement, yes?

\- _Ja._ – Linus grinned at the Major.

\- Here. – Knight handed him a small sack that rattled with bottle caps – Your actions help our cause significantly. Standy for further hits, the enemies of the New California Republic don't take breaks.

\- Happy to be of service, _Herr _Knight.

As Blau left the HQ, he marked another tick on his Gewehr 98's stock. Vulpes was his 37th successful hit. But even with such an impressive kill count under his belt, Linus Blau took no pride on his work. Pride gets you killed. He did God's wet work, quickly and as painlessly as he could, he was no sadist either. His beloved rifle, _Reiniger_ as he nicknamed it, did exactly what its name indicated - purified.


End file.
